


by your grave (i weep)

by Louuii



Series: his musings and muse [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:21:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29037783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louuii/pseuds/Louuii
Summary: Geralt finds about Jaskier's death a year and a half too late.or: Geralt grieves.(Can be read as a standalone, but I encourage you to read the first one!)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: his musings and muse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2130264
Comments: 40
Kudos: 154





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you asked, and now I have come to deliver the sequel! (But I planned on posting it, whether you asked or not, haha)
> 
> This one was also supposed to be short, but just like the first part, feelings happened and now I can't stop! I'm still practicing my writing since I haven't written in years, so take caution when reading.
> 
> I'm playing fast and loose with the timeline and canon here, just to fit with my story. Remember, I only watched the Netflix show and read fics, so it's not _exactly_ precise. Unbeta'd as always, so point out any mistakes!
> 
> (I looked up the Netflix Witcher map, just to have some idea, and I saw little Jaskier singing in a forest! I remembered how much I love him and he was my companion as I wrote this. If you haven't seen it yet, I suggest looking it up! :) )

Geralt is used to being alone, has been for the most part of his life. After Yennefer left, after he _made_ Jaskier leave, he goes back to his old life. A life wherein he doesn’t allow anyone in, and he’s fine with that. He’s made peace. So, Geralt of Rivia returns to the Path, just like he was meant to, what he was made for. He hunts for monsters and gets his coin in return. Sometimes, he’s paid in warm food and comfortable lodging for him and Roach. He doesn’t complain about it. He hasn’t complained since he had Jaskier.

Jaskier may be loud and annoying, a bastard sometimes, but he’s _good_. He’s been with him even after the _Butcher of Blaviken_ , and it’s Jaskier who made him into _White Wolf_. It’s because of him that his old moniker is nearly forgotten and that he and his brothers are more welcomed into towns rather than sneered and spat at. Geralt has Jaskier to thank for. Which is why he understands, it was unfair when he shoved him away from his life. When he asked to be _blessed_ of Jaskier leaving. Geralt knows it isn’t fair nor justifiable, but he was _hurt_. He wanted to lash out and snarl and release the frustration and anger, and it was Jaskier who was there, like always. Faithfully by his side. So, it was _Jaskier_ who got hurt, when he didn’t deserve it. Geralt knows that, but he was angry.

(If he hadn’t been blinded by rage at the time, then he would’ve seen the utter heartbreak in Jaskier’s eyes.)

Geralt always meant to leave Jaskier, or the bard leaves him, whichever comes first. It’s just that no matter what he did, Jaskier _always_ stayed by his side. The bard leaves, sometimes, but it’s always Geralt he returns to. The Witcher will push him away, but Jaskier will cling like a curse. Years passed, and Geralt realized that the bard has no plan on leaving him, and, reluctantly, he has come to care for him, in a way.

 _We’re friends, Geralt_ , Jaskier would tease with that infuriating and charming smile. But the life of a Witcher is not for a fragile and _mortal_ man. When Jaskier finally left his side, Geralt believes it’s for the best. That Jaskier far more deserves to be in the comfort of a royal court, or perhaps he’ll even settle down. At least, that’s what Geralt tells himself.

He tells himself that Jaskier will be well-cared for, will be safe and happy even without the help of Geralt to look after him. Jaskier is a grown man. If he had survived traveling alone before he met Geralt, then surely, Jaskier will be _fine_.

But it is _Geralt_ who isn’t fine.

Jaskier shoved into his life, annoyingly headstrong, then burrowed under Geralt’s skin. He then promptly and selfishly made a little home in Geralt’s heart without his permission. Like a phantom pain, Geralt feels the ache when the bard isn’t by his side. An ache more painful and different compared to Yennefer leaving.

(He has no right to complain because it was _him_ who pushed the other away.)

So, he goes back to monster hunting and collecting coin. But destiny is a bitch. Geralt can no longer fight the insistent tugging and makes his way to Cintra, especially with Nilfgaard's hell-bent on razing and conquering every land. Geralt was welcomed in hostility, locked away when he came to claim his Child Surprise from that blasted banquet Jaskier forced him in accompanying all those years ago. He wasn’t interested in having his own daughter, but it is _his_ responsibility to keep her safe and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t.

War isn’t kind, never was, and never will. Never kind to anyone, too. When Nilfgaard came and ravaged Cintra, Geralt only thought about his Child Surprise. Escaping the dungeon, Geralt had no time to survey the damage, but he had paused when he saw the regal and formidable Calanthe dead. With no Cirilla on sight, Geralt leaves the city in search of her like a man hunted by blood-thirsty dogs. He knows Nilfgaard will look for her. How can they be satisfied with the death of the Lioness of Cintra when the cub is alive and hiding.

Tirelessly and with unwavering determination, Geralt paves his way. He had fought off every Nilfgaardian army alone that caught up to him. Without hesitation, he strikes them down, one by one, until he finally found her. The tugging in his chest was getting stronger, guiding his way, into a forest. There, he saw a young girl, dishevelled but standing proud, and he just _knew_ that it’s his Child Surprise. When he had her in his arms, protected and safe, Geralt felt the overwhelming rush of relief, and suddenly felt he was too old for this.

But they had no moment to spare, for Nilfgaard is still hot on their heels. They ran and hid and fought. Geralt can only think of one safe place: Kaer Morhen. He may have no real home he can return to, but the keep is the closest thing to having a home. Geralt will hide and train Ciri there, along with the help of his mentor and brothers. He’s still unsure how they’ll be able to train the magic the girl obviously has. Geralt will figure it out. In the meantime, he focuses on bringing them both back to Kaer Morhen.

On their way, he meets Yennefer again, battered and tired. He’s heard of the battle between the witches but didn’t know the extent of the damage. Understandably, she’s angry with him, even more, when he asks her to come with him. Geralt knows what they had can no longer be repaired, no longer able to trust themselves when Geralt had tied them with a wish. But he’s no longer trying to get her back, not when they crashed and burned. But he wants her to be safe, as well, and it’s the least he can do for her.

Devastatingly beautiful, but just as dangerous, Yennefer seethed at him, and Geralt had accepted it because it was what he deserves. He explains to her that he’s being chased by Nilfgaard, as well, and he can see how her whole body softens when her eyes laid on Ciri. She wants to be a mother, the ability to be one was lost when she wanted _power_. He understands her thirst for both beauty and strength, and she also selfishly wants to have her own child, but he can’t give her that. Geralt will never be enough for her, but Ciri, Yennefer knows, will be the closest thing to her having a child.

Yennefer relents, and together, they make their way to Kaer Morhen. They’re tired and bruised, but no less deadly. With only the single-minded focus of them going to Kaer Morhen, they waste not a moment. If Vesemir had been surprised when they arrived, he didn’t show it. He was quick to welcome them and accommodate their needs. They needed food, rest, and medicine, all of which his mentor has delivered.

They all need time to heal, to recover physically and emotionally. Running from Nilfgaard meant they didn’t have time to _feel_. Vesemir had been understanding to their situation, but he had berated Geralt for his recklessness, for acquiring a _Child Surprise_ of all things, then promptly ignoring it until the last minute.

When his brothers came as well, Geralt felt that all is well. That even if the world is in chaos, as long as he has his own little family safe, he feels content.

(Geralt couldn’t understand the nagging feeling he felt at the time. As if something was missing, but he has his Child Surprise safe, and that was enough.)

They spend the first few months recovering, to make Ciri feel comfortable as much as possible and earn her trust. When they finally felt better, they trained the cub ruthlessly and tirelessly as they can. Ciri hadn’t complained. She wants to be _strong_ , more _powerful_ , and he knows she’ll try her best to acquire that. To reclaim the throne she was robbed of. But they also know there are limits. When her palms are bleeding and knees are buckling from exertion, the wolves of Kaer Morhen will order her to rest. And when she argues and demands _more_ , Yennefer will step in. She’ll be the one to help Ciri in seeing reason.

Geralt and Yennefer could never have what they had, but they have met in the middle. They’re friends, at best, but they’re together not for the passionate love they had, no. They remain by each other’s side for Ciri’s sake, and they’re content with that. Geralt has seen the positive influence Ciri has brought to Kaer Morhen. She’s a menace, a fire that burns too hot, but they love her all the same.

He feels unfamiliar fondness in his chest when Ciri is being taught about Signs by Eskel as Lambert taunts at the side like a bastard he is. Vesemir watches over them with a careful eye, and from Geralt’s position, he can see Yennefer watching them train at the court by her bedroom window, a small but genuine smile gracing her lips.

For six months, they had run from Nilfgaard, and they rested for three. For another six months, they have trained Ciri. His family is complete in here. Yes, Geralt is content.

Which is why Geralt isn’t surprised when it starts to go downhill.

The wolves take turns in going down the trek, either for hauling supplies or to rid of monsters on the Path again. Geralt also leaves, but never for long periods of time. It is Geralt and Yennefer who mostly stays behind. So, when Eskel leaves the keep, he isn’t worried, no. They continue to train and simply wait for his return.

But Eskel hasn’t returned and seven weeks have passed.

He usually stays out for three weeks, five at most, so they give him the benefit of the doubt. But when Eskel has not sent even a word for nearly eight weeks, they start to worry. They’re no stranger to being a loner on the Path, they have faith that each of them is capable of surviving. Eskel is smart and logical, he wouldn’t do anything reckless. But it also isn’t in Eskel’s character to simply disappear with not a word to them.

They try not to worry too much, more for Ciri’s sake, but even then, she’s also noticed the growing tension and the lack of Eskel’s presence. Thankfully, before Geralt has started to pace in anxious worry, they see Eskel’s figure by the keep’s entrance.

“Brother,” Geralt greets, his relief palpable in his voice. But the relief is cut short with Eskel’s ominous expression.

“Geralt, I have some… worrying news,” Eskel starts, once they have settled in the dining hall. Geralt quirks a brow at that, prompting the other to continue. “Have you any recent news regarding your bard?”

Mentions of Jaskier still aches, as if he’s missing a limb that was part of him, and for a moment, Geralt is surprised by the topic but shakes his head. “No, not since the dragon hunt,” he answers, trying to hide the regret in his voice.

(Jaskier had met Eskel, just once. It was by pure accident when they crossed path, and just like how the bard was enamoured with Geralt, he treated his brother just the same. Their meeting only lasted for two days, but he knows that Eskel genuinely likes Jaskier.)

Eskel nods at this, as if in thought. Geralt doesn’t like the look on his brother’s face.

“What’s wrong?” Geralt asks.

By this point, all adults are present in the room, entering one by one to greet Eskel but remained silent because of the growing tension in the room. Yennefer sits by the hearth, far but obviously listening, while Vesemir and Lambert sit close to them.

“If he’s lying low, I think it’s best that it remains that way. Jaskier is being hunted by Nilfgaard, Geralt.”

For a moment, his breath stutters and his fingers twitched, but he reigns himself back.

“What do you mean? He’s just a bard for Melitele’s sake. What harm can he bring?” he snaps.

“He’s just a bard, yes, but you forget that he is the _White Wolf’s_. You have Ciri, the princess they’re looking for, and since both of you have hidden, they’re resorting to your bard for answers,” Eskel says. “There was a small Nilfgaardian army at one town I was in. Obviously, I kept my head down and didn’t take any jobs for monster hunting, but still, I knew they were suspecting me. I didn’t stay there for the whole day. I left at night, just after they murdered a bard.”

The tension in the room thickens, and Yennefer has stopped pretending to be uninterested. Lambert hasn’t even quipped anything stupid.

“I was in this tavern; a bard was playing your usual songs. You know, ‘ _Toss a Coin_ ’ and all that. He said he was Jaskier, the famed bard of the White Wolf, but it wasn’t _Jaskier_. He’s just pretending to be him, but the common folk didn’t know that,” Eskel continues. “It’s no surprise that some people want to pretend as him, truth be told. The man has earned his fame and made his own name. I ignored it, in favour of finishing my meal when Nilfgaardian soldiers barged in and captured him.

“The bard fought back and begged. They thought it was him, that _he_ was the White Wolf’s bard, then he vehemently denied it. He admitted that he was lying, that he wasn’t actually Jaskier, but they didn’t believe him and demanded where you are, but obviously, he has no answers to give.”

“And he was murdered then,” Lambert mutters, quiet for once.

Eskel gravely nods, his expression sombre.

“They killed him when they figured out he was a fake and he was of no use. I fled as quietly and quickly as I can,” Eskel finishes his story.

“And you’ve been trying to throw them off of your trail, just in case you were being followed. No wonder it took you long, out there. Isn’t that right, boy?” Vesemir says.

“Yes.”

Geralt suddenly feels numb. He thought he’s doing Jaskier a favour. The bard isn’t safe by his side, his life is dangerous, after all. But even when Geralt is no longer in his life, Jaskier is still in danger because of _him_. When he’s needed the most, Geralt is far away from him.

“If I were you, Geralt,” Eskel says, turning to face him. Geralt startles, momentarily in a daze. “I would send word to Jaskier to be careful, that Nilfgaard is after him as well.”

“Julek is being hunted? Why?”

All heads snap towards the door where Ciri is half-visible. She looks distraught by the news, her face paling.

“Julek?” Yennefer asks, deciding to sit by the table as well.

Ciri startles before clearing her throat, “Jaskier, right? The bard?”

“Yes,” Eskel says, slowly, “are you familiar with him?”

“He visits Cintra in winter to play for our court. Not every year, that is, but when he does come, he stays with us for a long period of time and watches over me as a—a tutor, I guess,” she explains, her voice going soft as if lost in memories. “I’m very fond of him.”

“You know Jaskier?” Geralt blurts out.

“ _You_ know Julek?”

“He’s a… friend,” he answers.

Ciri frowns at this. “He never mentioned you, not in a way that implies you two are friends,” she mumbles.

(Geralt ignores the pain. It’s Jaskier’s right and business whether he tells other people they’re friends or not. He has no say in it.)

“This is an interesting turn of events,” Yennefer says, light humour colouring her tone.

Ciri snaps back in attention, walking towards the group of adults. “Is he being hunted because of me?” she asks, her lips slightly quivering.

Geralt shakes his head. “No,” he says. Technically, he’s being hunted because of _Geralt_. “They’re looking for him because they want me.”

“Because you have _me_.”

They go quiet at that.

“In any case, send word to your bard,” Vesemir says.

“Might as well bring him here if it’s Geralt’s fault,” Lambert says with a teasing grin. Geralt glares at him,

His Child Surprise brightens at this, perking up in enthusiasm. “Oh, that would be wonderful, don’t you think?” she says. “Please, Geralt. I–I lost so many people, and I can’t bear it if—if _Julek_ will be hurt because of _me_.”

Geralt’s chest feels a twinge of pain. For a young child, she’s lost so many. Geralt understands the pain of losing everything, and he swears she will never have to feel such grief again.

“Of course,” he agrees immediately. They haven’t discussed it, but they won’t mind. A friend of Geralt is their friend as well. “But I have no idea where he is. The last time we… met was more than a year ago.”

And Geralt is being generous. The last time they were ‘together’ was during the dragon hunt, and since then, he hadn’t tried to look for him, especially not when he finally claimed his Child Surprise and was being chased by Nilfgaard.

Ciri swivels to Yennefer, her eyes pleading. “You can find him, right, Yennefer? You said there’s a spell for it,” she pleads.

Yennefer’s violet eyes soften, the grimace on her lips disappearing. “Yes, there is, but if we want to find him as quick as possible, I’ll need a possession of his, dear,” she explains softly. “Of course, I can locate him even without that, but it will take me a week, at most.”

“And maybe it’ll be a week too late,” Lambert chimes in. They all glare at him. “What, I was only being honest,” he says, defensive.

Ciri bites her lower lip in worry.

“I have one,” Geralt admits as he pulls a ring from his pocket. He ignores their questioning gaze, especially Yennefer’s, who arches a perfect brow at him.

(It’s a ring that Jaskier frequently wears. The bard is a disaster when it comes to packing, and sometimes he’ll misplace a ring or two in Geralt’s bag. Geralt found the ring three days after they parted. He was still hurt and deliberated whether to throw it or not, but against his better judgment, he decided to keep it hidden deep beneath his things. Now, he keeps the ring on his person at all times. Geralt doesn’t want to know what that means.)

“Perfect!” Ciri exclaims.

The sorceress accepts the ring with only an inquisitive hum. Geralt also feels the burning gaze Eskel is directing him. Yennefer stands, tall and graceful, and they give her more space. She closes her eyes as her arms are outstretched from her, palms facing down towards the ring that lies on the table. Their medallion hums when chaos starts to flow from within her to her fingertips. They feel the air around them slightly crackle in tension for a moment, before it disappears along with Yennefer’s magic.

“That’s strange,” she mumbles with a slight frown before she tries again, the chaos more intense as she exerts more focus and effort.

They all patiently wait, but Geralt suddenly feels restless. He tries to hide it, but he seems to fail when Eskel places a hand on his shoulder, a comfortable weight that anchors him. Second by second, Yennefer’s frown deepens and the chaos grows stronger—then it all disappears. Her violet eyes snap open, a storm of emotion within them.

“Well?” Vesemir prompts when she remains quiet for a moment too long. “Where’s the bard?”

“I couldn’t find him,” she whispers, and now that Geralt is _really_ looking, he notices the minute trembling in her hands and the paleness of her face.

“I thought you can find him if you have something of his, witch,” Lambert says, and usually Yennefer will silence him with a look, but she only nods.

“I can only find someone if they’re _alive_.”

Yennefer is implying something there, Geralt knows that, but he can’t figure out _what_. He doesn’t want to know what. He starts to hear the faint ringing in his ear.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It _means_ ,” she snaps at the youngest Witcher, before softening again as she faces Geralt, “Jaskier is dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, sorry to leave the chapter there, but I kind of lost steam, emotionally speaking. You see, I really love Jaskier, and writing this to get Geralt to talk about Jaskier's _death_ really pains me. If I'm hurting you, just know you're not the only one. I wanted to write this as a whole story, but as I wrote this, I decided it's better if I did it chapter by chapter. Hope you don't mind! 
> 
> This fic will probably have two chapters or three, four at _most_. So look out for updates in the near future! Leave a kudos if you liked this, and don't be shy to leave a comment. I would love to know about your thoughts so far.
> 
> (Btw, as a Netflix only, please tell me I wasn't the only one who struggled to watch the series. I was at loss, sometimes, because of the pacing and had a hard time keeping up. I wasn't even sure which part was the present and which was the past. I didn't even realize Geralt and Jaskier's friendship lasted _decades_ , I thought it was only a few years! Even then, I really enjoyed watching it, haha!)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Whew!_ This chapter was such a challenge in writing it! So sorry to post this late. I had to wait for a week to have my glasses fixed on the weekends, and typing out on my laptop with squinted eyes is not fun. Plus, I absolutely had no energy to do anything, much less update this. Not because I didn't try, but I had little to no sleep and couldn't function well, haha! But now I'm feeling better, I wrote this chapter little by little.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you'll forgive me for the late update and the heartache I'm about to deliver. Unbeta'd as usual, so do tell me if there are any mistakes.

It’s strange that Geralt can see the ground, that he’s _still_ standing. He thought the ground beneath him has collapsed, or perhaps the world’s axis has shifted. Maybe he’s just having an _unbelievably realistic_ dream, right in the middle of their conversation. But this is reality, he knows. How can he mistake it for something else when Eskel’s hand on his shoulder has considerably tightened as if it’s the only thing that’s keeping him upright. Maybe that’s true. It’s Ciri’s sharp intake of breath that brings him out of his daze.

“No,” she whispers as she takes a step back, a trembling hand comes up to cover her mouth, her face considerably paling. “That can’t be…”

Yennefer carefully steps toward the young girl, gently guiding her to sit lest she collapses on the ground. “Hush, my dear,” she coos, trying to calm Ciri who now obviously starts to shudder in grief. They can also see how Yennefer seems to be sad as well, though she carefully covers it beneath a calm façade.

“H–how can that be…? That’s not possible!” Ciri flinches from the gentle hand that’s tucking her hair behind, tears now visibly streaking her reddening cheeks. She cries out, “Please, Yennefer, try again. It’s not true—it _can’t_ be true!”

“I’m sorry, Ciri, but it’s the truth. I can no longer feel his aura nor his vital force anymore. It could only mean one thing…”

“No, no, no, nono _nonono—_!”

At this, Ciri starts to tremble, her chest heaving in loud and short intakes of breath. The remaining logical part of Geralt worries, just for a moment, that her outburst will release untrained chaos. But he can’t really be worried about that. Not now. Geralt knows he should do _something_. To move and comfort her, but he feels numb. He watches the event unfold before him as if in third-person. His head starts to ache when the ringing in his ears grows louder.

They watch Ciri let out sobs that shakes her whole body, quivering in Yennefer’s protective embrace. She doesn’t seem to mind the tears that are flooding her shoulder. Geralt has seen Ciri cry in her room, once. She had released all her grief and sadness that night, just a week after they arrived in Kaer Morhen. She had tried to hide her sobs, burying herself beneath piles of blankets and into her pillows. Ciri didn’t know that a Witcher's senses are sharp, that they can hear her calm heartbeats and even breaths several rooms away. She thought she was being discreet, and so they all pretended that they had no idea. When she woke up the next day with swollen eyes and blotchy cheeks, they acted that nothing was amiss.

Seeing her openly cry, now when she has lost another, broke Geralt. He hadn’t realized he was slowly stepping away until he felt his back hit Eskel’s front. He stumbles and involuntarily, he nearly slumps over, forcing Eskel to carry his weight to keep him standing. He’s unsure whether he’s breathing properly, but his throat feels tight as if the storm of emotions within him has made a home there.

Faintly, he hears Yennefer explain.

“I don’t know if this will help,” she starts, her voice careful and gentle, just loud enough to be heard over Ciri’s wailing, “but I believe it wasn’t Nilfgaard that got him. His energy felt weak, _extremely_ so, that I only got its very tail-end. It made me pause whether he was truly… _gone_ or not. But he is. It could mean that his death has considerably long passed. A year, at least. I don’t know the cause, but Ciri, it _wasn’t_ Nilfgaard. Not when they are still looking for him.”

Here, she gently pulls away to properly face the young girl, hands cupping her cheeks as she wipes the tears away. Yennefer’s eyes harden in determination, but never harsh. “It wasn’t _your_ fault. You will not blame yourself. Not before, not in the future, and certainly not now,” she says.

Ciri’s breath hitches twice, before, “He’s still _gone_ ,” she whispers.

At this, Ciri sobs and Yennefer wraps her arms around again.

Geralt has been listening, as much as he can. What Yennefer was saying was important, so he really tried to listen, but he feels like his head is underwater. His usually sharp senses feel muddled; he feels like he’s suffocating and floating at the same time. The arm that’s been supporting his weight tightens, bringing him back to _reality_.

“Geralt…” Eskel says, careful.

Geralt tenses, his muscles tightening and the ugly and harsh emotion in his stomach starts to coil. “I—I need to think,” he manages to whisper, barely audible even with Witcher senses, but he knows they heard him when they nod, giving him an understanding look.

He forces himself to move and walk away, barely restraining himself from actually running. Geralt isn’t sure where he’s going, but his feet move on instinct, and he finds himself in front of his room so he shoves the door open and firmly shuts it behind him. With no one around him, Geralt allows himself to slide against the door. The ringing in his ear has gone and is replaced with deafening silence again.

(Strange. Considering he’s a Witcher, Geralt should be able to hear things even from the faintest sigh or Ciri’s sobbing down below. He should be able to hear his own slow heartbeat. But he can’t.)

Geralt feels his ache chest, for some reason, when his chest should feel hollow and empty. There’s also some pressure behind his eyes. He tries to blink it away, but it only seems to worsen. With a numbing shock, he realizes that he’s trying to cry. But Witchers don’t cry. Not because they don’t have feelings, they just _can’t_. They don’t have the ability to do so. He covers his eyes with his palms.

He’s mourning, Geralt realizes. Even if he tries to ignore it, even when he tries to deny what Yennefer said, the rational part of his mind persists. Jaskier is human, a _mortal_. There’s no telling what will happen when it comes to humans. Their lifespan, so short and fleeting, can be cut abruptly when destiny says so.

(Stupid, reckless, coward, selfish yet so brave, loving, good, and fragile Jaskier— _gone_.)

With a storm of emotions nestled deep in his chest, whirling in agony, memories flash in his mind.

( _“_ Geralt! _” Jaskier exclaims with that beaming smile, whenever he returns from a hunt. Then his lips would twist into a grimace when blue eyes scrutinized his current state. “_ I see you took another… bloody bath with your monsters, haven’t you? _”_

 _And he would gripe and groan, but he’d still help him in his bath, making sure to thoroughly comb his white hair._ )

( _“_ What’s the point of this? _” Geralt snaps after he was forced to scent the sixth bottle of oil. He wants to leave the town already, but Jaskier persists in looking at the market before doing so._

_Jaskier only hums and sniffs another bottle, his eyes twinkling with delight. He shoves the bottle to Geralt’s nose which he swiftly moves away from with a scowl._

_“_ Oh, come on now, Witcher! The last one, I promise, _” Jaskier says with a smile, and Geralt grudgingly does so. The scent is faint, softly sweet with a touch of citrus. It doesn’t hurt his nose. The Witcher only hums, and Jaskier’s smile widens, his eyes crinkling at its corner. “_ Lovely, isn’t it? _” he says and purchases it._

 _Later that night, Geralt discovers the same oil applied to his bathwater Jaskier always prepares for him._ )

( _Jaskier dances in the tavern, belting out a bawdy song that has the crowd laughing and singing along. Geralt sees the thin layer of sweat on his forehead, but Jaskier doesn’t stop, not even for a moment, and continues to bring life to the room. Without meaning to get caught, Jaskier looks over in his direction and blinks for a moment when their eyes met. The bard smiles and winks before going back to his audience._

 _Geralt frowns and finishes his ale in one go before ordering for another, ignoring the sudden throb in his chest._ )

( _There’s a ruckus in the streets and it’s all because of Jaskier._

 _“_ Geralt of Rivia is no _butcher_ , and you have no right to say that after he has helped your sorry town from a nest of kikimora, _” Jaskier snarls after shoving a stranger to the ground._

_Geralt’s head hurts already and stops a sigh from leaving him._

_The man spits on the ground before standing up. “_ He is, and I ain’t taking nothing back, _” he says._

 _Jaskier gears up, ready to spit with venomous words before Geralt grabs him by the arm. “_ Leave it _,” Geralt says, wanting it to be over. The moniker doesn’t bother him as much as before and he knows it’s best to ignore it. The man is drunk as well, and there’s no point in arguing with drunk men._

 _“_ But, Geralt—! _”_

 _“_ Leave it. _”_

 _Jaskier huffs. He visibly doesn’t want to but decides to follow him. Before they could turn and leave, the man narrows his eyes with an ugly twist of his mouth, his stained teeth visible in a grin. “_ You best do what he says. You ain’t better, either. You’re just a monster’s whore! _”_

_And Jaskier throws a punch._

_It’s a chaos that ended just as how quickly it started when Geralt stepped in. The headache that’s smarting since earlier has worsened as he hauls Jaskier back to their room. “_ That was stupid, bard. I’ve been called worse, and so have you, _” Geralt grunts._

 _Jaskier only fixes his doublet, pointedly ignoring Geralt’s scowl. “_ Please, it’s what he deserves, _” he sniffs. “_ He can call me a whore all he wants, but you’re not a monster. _”_

_Geralt snorts. Blue eyes land on him. Jaskier is looking at him not with sympathy, but… something soft._

_“_ You’re not. _”_

 _Later that night, Geralt distantly thinks it’s the first time someone has defended him._ )

( _His body hurts. It’s not a new sensation, but that doesn’t mean Geralt enjoys it. He struggles with waking up, he’s trying to, but he can’t. He groans when the pain in his chest burns. Geralt doesn’t remember what happened after fighting an arachas. All he knows he’s killed the creature before promptly collapsing._

 _“_ Shh, calm down, Geralt. It’s me, _” a voice says from his side, then he feels a cool and damp cloth on his forehead. “_ You’re alright. _”_

_Geralt struggles in opening his eyes, but quite frankly, he doesn’t want to. He simply wants to go back to sleep but he’s tense and unsure whether he’s truly safe._

_“_ The arachas swiped at your chest and you fainted from blood loss and poison. I was able to carry you back to a healer thanks to Roach, that darling girl. Thankfully, she’s been patient with me as I tried to haul your sorry arse on her. She didn’t even try to nip my fingers nor kick me off if you’d believe that! I’m rightfully mad and pissed at you, _Witcher_. We’ll have words about how you label your potions. _”_

_Geralt frowns at this and groans, and there’s the shushing voice again as fingers comb through his hair._

_“_ Of course, after you’ve healed. Rest now, Geralt. I’m here. _”_

 _He’s not sure who’s talking, and Geralt thinks he’s still delirious. The soft humming returns and the scent is so familiar. It smells like home. He feels safe. He succumbs to his sleep again_.)

With effort, Geralt unclenches his jaw and releases a shaky breath. It’s the closest he can do to sobbing.

That night, Geralt curls in his bed with Jaskier’s ring in his clenched hand.

***

When Geralt decided to leave the keep, no one stops him. Not that he would obey them. Ciri wanted to join him as well. She knows why he’s leaving. They all do. They also agree that Geralt leaving is already risky enough, and Ciri coming along would only complicate things. His Child Surprise had begged and nearly sobbed, just so she can come with, but with gentle explaining and persuasion, she agrees to be left behind. Geralt can see how it pains her. He bids her a goodbye kiss on her forehead before leaving, his brothers and Yennefer seeing him off as well.

He treks down the mountain and onto the Path. He decides to head to Oxenfurt. He isn’t sure whether Lettenhove would be a better choice, but he remembers the hollowness and sadness in Jaskier’s eyes whenever he talks about his family. Geralt thinks Oxenfurt would be his best bet, recalling the enthusiastic tales Jaskier had told him about his university.

Reaching Oxenfurt will take time, especially with how cautious Geralt is being. He hasn’t forgotten that Nilfgaard is searching for him as well. But no force can stop him. He’ll reach Jaskier’s final resting place even if it’s the last thing he’ll do.

Geralt has been careful throughout the journey. It was slow, excruciatingly so, but he’s careful. By the last leg of his travel, Geralt starts to hesitate. He’s unsure whether he can face Jaskier’s grave, unsure how he’ll react. But he forces himself to move.

(They all have accepted the news of Jaskier’s death, even Geralt. But accepting the fact and actually seeing his grave are two different things. Geralt will be damned if he doesn’t even visit his ever so loyal friend’s final resting place. It’s the least he can do, after everything Jaskier has done for him.)

When Geralt enters the city in the late afternoon, no one bats an eye. Oxenfurt has always been more accepting and welcoming compared to other cities, for they believe that there is no room for prejudice in the pursuit of arts and education. Either way, Geralt isn’t complaining. He guides Roach to a nearby stable, deciding to allow her to rest before he ventures deeper into the city. Geralt narrows his eyes at the stableboy as he demands a promise of treating Roach with care as he tosses him his pay. When Roach is finally settled, Geralt makes his way to the university as he secures the dark cloak on him, the hood covering his white locks.

When he passes a local bookshop, a memory appears, unbidden.

( _“_ Geralt, look! _” Jaskier cheers as he walks away from him. Geralt grunts but he follows the bard who fawns at the store’s front, eyeing the books displayed. “_ Look at that! That book with the dark blue cover! _”_

_The Witcher arches a brow at that, unimpressed. Jaskier rolls his eyes in indignation before smiling wildly._

_“_ It’s a book on collections of poems from different poets by a good friend of mine, Adelaide! She was two years above me during my education, but we became so close. When she graduated, Adelaide immediately started working on publishing her book and asked me for help, saying she would be honored to have _my_ poems be part of her collection. Of course, I agreed, but I’ve never actually seen the book! Look at it! Can you believe that there are some poems of mine in that? _” he chattered. Geralt can see the fetching pink coloring his cheeks and ears, his skin no doubt heated by excitement. “_ Oh, I’m so happy for her. Adelaide is a dear, believe me, and seeing her book with my own two eyes is unbelievable! _”_

_Geralt only hums._

_“_ Oh, you! Try to look more interested, won’t you! _” Jaskier says as he slaps Geralt’s chest with the back of his hand, not unkindly. “_ Mark my words, Witcher. I’ll have a book of my own, regaling about my tales of travel and adventure as my songs are sung throughout the Continent! You’ll see. _”_

 _And when faced with such a bright smile and unwavering faith, his blue eyes ever gleaming with mischief and delight, Geralt is helpless. Yes, he doesn’t doubt Jaskier. Not at all._ )

Geralt grits his teeth until his jaw is too tense, and walks faster. The ring feels as heavy as his heart in his pocket. He’s familiar with the university’s layout, how can he not when Jaskier had once persisted in touring him around. Geralt enters the large gates and follows the path to the main office. It’s still open at this time of day, so he gently knocks before entering.

An old lady sits behind a large oak desk, papers piled neatly at the side as she hums, the soft scratching of her quill echoing in the otherwise silent room. Geralt’s footsteps are quiet as he approaches her.

“How can be I of help?” she asks without looking up as she finishes writing a sentence.

Geralt, realizing he still has his hood on, pushes it off since it seems rude. He hums, unsure of what to say. At that, the lady stops writing and puts her quill down, leaning comfortably back on her seat as she looks up at the figure before her. Her kind, brown eyes light up in recognition.

“You must be the Witcher, the famed White Wolf. We’ve heard a lot about you,” she says with a sad smile. “I’m sorry about his passing.”

Geralt can only tersely nod with thin lips, forcing himself to stand upright.

“You can find dear Jaskier’s grave—bless his soul—at the hill behind the university, the one with the large tree and flowers throughout,” she says gently, her eyes glisten in sorrow.

“Thank you,” he says after clearing his throat, barely audible. He leaves before she can say anything else, in fear he would shatter right there and then if he sees her grief.

With heavy steps and a heavier heart, he makes his way to the hill, his boots trudging on the lush grass and soil. He breathes in the fresh air as much as he can, forcing himself to breathe lest he forgets how to, the scent of flowers filling his lungs. For a moment, the scene feels so peaceful. He thinks Jaskier deserves at least this much. Beautiful scenery to look over from his grave. As he climbs the hill, there under the tree, a woman’s figure is sat down, her back to him. Geralt slows his footsteps as he nears her, the woman on the ground has her head slightly bowed. He notices the gravestone in front of her.

 _Jaskier_.

It only bore his friend’s single name and nothing else, aside from the beautiful crown of flowers perched on top, no doubt placed by the woman in front. Geralt couldn’t help but breathe in sharply, the air stinging his nose, similar to the stinging in his eyes.

The blonde woman turns her head in his direction, her blue eye scrutinizing him. Recognition also lights up within her eye, but he can see sorrow, anger, and resignation.

“Witcher,” she says with a sharp edge before returning her gaze to the gravestone. “How kind of you to visit Jaskier even when you’re busy. Surely you must be, given the fact you never had once come.”

Like a physical slap to his face, Geralt staggers, taking a step back. The guilt that’s been forming since knowing about Jaskier’s death nearly engulfs his whole being.

“I— it’s not like that—”

“Save it.”

Geralt shuts his mouth, helpless to obey. The girl sighs after a moment.

“Forgive me, Witcher. What I said was uncalled for,” she says, softly.

Geralt shakes his head. “There’s nothing to forgive. What you said was… correct,” he says when he realizes she didn’t see his action.

“I’m compelled to agree, but Julek would be awfully cross with me, especially in front of his grave. He made me promise to not be mad at you if we were to meet, Witcher,” she says with obvious fondness in her voice. “Come, sit by me. I’m sure you have many questions. That is if you care to ask.”

Her words bring him out of his daze, indignation flaring in his chest as he moves to sit. “I do care,” he says with as much as conviction he can muster, but even to him, it sounds weak and pathetic. “How did he…”

She only hums. Geralt only realizes that she’s been fiddling with her lap when he finally sat down beside her, another flower crown in the making. “My name is Essi, a close friend of Jaskier’s,” she starts. “Some would argue I’m his little sister of different blood.”

Geralt stays silent when she obviously isn’t done talking.

“Julek is a free spirit. He loves and lives freely, he does. So much so, that even in death, he wishes to be free. He said to me, long before his name is known throughout, ‘Essi, dear, if I were to die before you, I want my body to be burnt and have my ash simply tossed in the wind so that even when I’m no longer alive, I’ll still be able to travel and roam!’ He’s a fool, but a fool that I love. I laughed it off before, but when he brought the idea up again as he became bedridden, I cried my heart out.

“I told him not to think of such things, to have faith he’ll be better in no time, and he says he believes so, that he simply wants to be prepared. He wants his death to be dramatic and immortalized, to be _grand_. He jokes about it but he’s adamant about scattering his ash. I broke down when I couldn’t handle it anymore and begged him. I said, ‘Don’t make me do it. Don’t go where I can’t follow you.'”

As Essi talks, her voice increasingly stutters and breaks, all before she starts sobbing. Geralt wishes that he, too, can cry as well. That he can release the tears begging to be shed as he listens, but there’s only pressure behind his eyes. His throat hurts when he swallows, his mouth drying, and his mind-numbingly spinning. Her uneven breaths and sobbing echoes, the wind slightly howling and harsh.

“He relented and allowed me to bury him here, where I can visit him every day at any time. Imagine me chasing the wind in hopes I can talk to him,” Essi says after she collects herself again, wiping the tears away with a sniffle.

“Julek’s death was sudden. He was alone in his room when he died. I went to his room for our breakfast, just like how I always do… but he was still and unbreathing. Death must’ve been kind to him, in a way, when he took him in his sleep. He looked so at peace for the first time in months when I saw him, and even when I knew he’s gone, I feared my crying would wake him up. He had an unknown illness. Just after three months of teaching, he started to weaken. Simple pain in his chest and sought a healer when it became too much. For a while, it worked, but he then began feeling weaker and weaker, even when I forced him to speak with a healer again. They could do nothing but ease his pain as much as possible. Not even a sorceress could figure it out. It was confusing. He was visibly sick and feeble, with physical symptoms to prove, but they all claim that he’s perfectly healthy.”

(Geralt’s heart aches when he tries to imagine Jaskier, who’s so filled with _life_ , bedridden and sick. Has he suffered for months before death took him? The regret he has when he made Jaskier leave hurts him now more than ever when Geralt wasn’t by his side in his final moments.)

“Do you know what he said about what ails him?” she asks, a wistful smile on her face.

The Witcher only shakes his head.

“He said he must be heartbroken, in the most literal sense. Julek was a poet, through and through. He never fails to add flair, even in his death. A fitting death, he says. Death by heartbreak.”

At that, Geralt couldn’t breathe, his amber eyes widening as he studies Essi’s face. She looks back at him, and there are no signs of her lying or even teasing.

“Julek tells me everything, but he couldn’t tell me what was the reason he returned to Oxenfurt so abruptly at the beginning. Why he began to teach and stopped traveling. He only told me after a month, when we were deep into our cups. I’m not mad at you, Geralt, I don’t blame you, only because I swore to Julek. But if it wasn’t for my promise, believe me, I’ll beat and lash out at you with all my strength and fury, damn it all even if you’re a Witcher.”

His heart shouldn’t beat _this_ fast. It’s still too slow for a man’s, but too fast for a Witcher’s.

“Jaskier—? Heartbroken?”

“Surely, you must know. That the big bad White Wolf is loved by his loyal songbird.”

Geralt is reeling, shaking his head. “I knew he loved me, but not… not like that.”

Essi studies him before she returns to the forgotten flower crown on her lap.

“He did. He loved you, more than a faithful companion should. But know this, Geralt of Rivia, he doesn’t regret loving you, even if it was unreturned—”

“I did love him!”

At his shout, Essi quirked a brow. “But did you love him the same way he did?”

“I didn’t know he saw me like that.”

“And if you did? Can you give him what he wants? What he yearns for?” The Witcher remains quiet, his thoughts swirling in his head. Essi only hums. “I know Julek. He wasn’t mad nor bitter that you didn’t feel the same way he did. You must know how selfish he can be, just as how he can be selfless for those who he loves and cares for. Your happiness is his happiness, you know.”

Geralt has his head in his hands, trying to make sense of everything as he listened. Everything _hurts_ , so much, and he struggles to breathe.

(Oh, how he wishes he can cry, how he can shed tears and wail and let out all his anguish and grief. But he’s a Witcher. They do feel emotions, but sadness is one of those they _physically_ struggle to show.)

“I’ve done nothing to deserve anything from him. Not his songs, not his kindness, much less his love,” he rasps.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing in quiet comfort. “That’s not true,” she says. “That’s not true at all. I may not know you as well as Julek does, but I know _him_. He’s stayed by your side for reasons that make him happy, and that’s enough. I can’t tell you what he thinks, but I know that if he were here right now, he’d sing praises of you.”

“I’m too late,” he whispers. Essi must understand what he meant as she slowly nods, lowering her gaze, giving Geralt some sort of privacy as he feels himself crumble.

“But not at everything, Witcher.” With a distant gaze, he tries to focus on her, brows furrowing in confusion. “Meet me at Jaskier’s quarters, would you? Not now, but… after,” she says with a sad smile. With that, she pushes herself off the ground as she dusts off her skirt with one hand, the unfinished flower crown in the other. Essi gives him one final smile before leaving him.

When Geralt is sure he can’t hear her distant footsteps, that she’s far enough that she can’t hear _him_ , he allows himself to crumble. Slumping forward on his knees and elbows, Geralt tries to curl over as much as he can. When the tightness in his throat becomes too much, he finally bellows to the ground, releasing the storm of emotions in his chest. It _hurts_. He doesn’t know what hurts anymore, but it hurts and he can’t breathe. Grasses are ripped off when his hands clenched too tight, his whole body shuddering in grief, chest heaving in uneven breaths. If he were a man, he would be crying, shedding enough tears that can water the soil beneath him. But he’s a Witcher, and for the first time in decades, he hates being one.

Geralt’s bellow of anguish and misery sounds like a wolf howling in grief. It’s now the White Wolf’s turn in heartache. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, when I say that I didn't think through about Jaskier's death, I _really_ didn't. I thought, _hey, it's a nice practice if I wrote angst and killed Jaskier_ , and it was, but I didn't realize it was a commitment, haha! As much as I enjoyed writing this, the pain is too much! I was really tempted in bringing Jaskier back to life just to please me, haha!
> 
> I'm not done yet with this story, as you can see. I tried finishing the whole story in this chapter but it's already too long for my taste, and so, look out for another chapter! Thank you so much for sticking with me so far, and I hope you'll do so until the end. Don't be shy to leave a kudos or comment! :)
> 
> (I hope I delivered the heartache I promised! I still have a very vague idea of what will happen next chapter. Will there be more angst and hurt? Will there be comfort? Who knows, because I absolutely don't, haha.)


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